


Afterglow

by nimiumcaelo



Series: Five Years Later [2]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: (Hannibal is dead at the start of this), Abusive Relationships, Angst and Humor, Angst with a Happy Ending, Apologies, Character Development, Chilton/Will is the primary ship, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Eventual Happy Ending, Forgiveness, Friends to Lovers, Humor, Illnesses, Love Letters, M/M, NO CURRENT NON-CON, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Past Abuse, Past Hannibal Lecter/Will Graham - Freeform, Past Rape/Non-con, Personal Growth, Post-Canon, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pre-Slash, Slow Burn, Therapy, Will Graham Has Encephalitis, Will Graham is the Hot Girl of Pyschiatry, but also not?, it's complicated - Freeform, shockingly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-23
Updated: 2020-10-19
Packaged: 2021-03-07 17:02:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 10
Words: 12,887
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26621098
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nimiumcaelo/pseuds/nimiumcaelo
Summary: SEQUEL TO "FIVE YEARS LATER (BRING YOUR LOVE TO ME)"---After Will leaves, he realizes that something needs to change. He starts seeing Alana Bloom and finally gets Hannibal Lecter out of his head. He works to rebuild his relationships with Molly, Walter, and Frederick.
Relationships: Dr. Frederick Chilton & Freddie Lounds, Dr. Frederick Chilton/Will Graham, Molly Graham/Will Graham, Will Graham & Walter Graham
Series: Five Years Later [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1936519
Comments: 35
Kudos: 27





	1. boxing with no gloves

After leaving Chilton’s house, Will went to the only place he could: back to Wolf Trap.

The whole drive there, he thought of Frederick and the awful, stricken expression on his face. He’d tried to hide it well, but he’d always been so obvious. He could never hide anything from anybody. (So why hadn’t Will believed that?)

A sick tangle of emotions settled into his stomach. He didn’t know why it bothered him so much. He and Frederick had never been close—not _actually_. The only time they were had been when Will was… well.

He pulled into the driveway of Wolf Trap and got out. This was going to be weird.

“Will? What’s up?” Molly said when she saw him at the door.  
“I need a place to stay,” he said. “Or, at least I need to leave the dogs here. I’m sorry. My… accommodations changed rather suddenly.”  
Molly’s eyes widened. “Oh, of course. Yeah, bring them in. You can stay here tonight. I’ll help you look somewhere in the morning. Come on in.”

It felt like failure to walk back into that house. He’d left, he’d gone out on his own, and here he was, crawling back with his tail tucked between his legs.

He slept on the couch, for obvious reasons. This didn’t _mean_ anything. He wasn’t actually _back_. He’d ruined things with Molly just like he’d ruined things with Frederick.

Everything seemed unreal. He tried to tell himself it was just another game, just another trick, just another job well done. He’d been trying to see whether Frederick was tricking him; he’d found out. It shouldn’t be so hard for him to separate from this. It’s not like he’d killed the man.

Bedelia’s words rang out in his head, suddenly, condemning him. _Hadn’t he?_

A wave of guilt and shame washed over Will. What had Frederick done to deserve this—any of it? Why couldn’t Will just trust him and be done with it? Why did he have to go and ruin everything, again?

Ever since Will had walked into his life, the man had faced nothing but pain and danger. The argument could be made that he’d asked for it, but Will knew that was a poor excuse. Everywhere he went, awfulness followed. He was poisoned, he had been for a long time. How could he think he could ever get away?

It was getting ridiculous. First, his marriage, now the only friendship he’d managed to half-sustain since getting away from him.

Will felt a tide of anger rise up in himself. Hannibal didn’t get to ruin everything. He didn’t get to ruin _squat._

Lying there, staring at the grease-stained ceiling of his ex’s house, Will realized something. He didn’t know how he was going to do it. He sure as hell didn’t want to do it. But, he had to. It was the only way. Living like this wasn’t working and it wasn’t going to magically fix itself somehow the longer he waited to take care of it.

He needed to get Hannibal Lecter out of his head.

He’d thought he could just try and talk about it with Molly or ignore it with Frederick, but these issues, these _problems_ … they weren’t going away. He still woke up shaking every night. He still fantasized about killing people in the grocery aisle. He still treated his loved ones awfully.

Will didn’t know what else to do.

As much as it scared him, he was going to go to therapy.

The next morning, he stared longer than necessary at his phone. Last week he’d sent Frederick a text asking him if they needed eggs. For some reason, he couldn’t bring himself to delete the messages, distracting though they were.

He left the dogs with Molly and booked himself a room in a motel near Quantico. He’d be starting around Christmas. He was getting Walter for Christmas Eve and Molly would be getting him for Christmas Day. Will remembered mentioning that fact to Frederick and seeing the tiny smile light up on the man’s face. Had he wanted Will to stay for Christmas? Had he wanted—

No.

Will wasn’t going to go down that path. He knew what Frederick had wanted. The pertinent point was that he didn’t want it anymore.

Will picked up his phone again. He wanted to call Alana. She would know how to fix this, how to fix what Hannibal had done to him. She would know how to fix his relationships, too.

But would she want to?

Pushing past his fear, Will dialed her number.  
“Hello?”  
“Hi, Alana.”  
“Will,” she breathed. “Why are you calling?”  
“I, uh… I would like to schedule an appointment with you. For therapy.”  
A pause. “Okay. When would you like to come in?”  
“Do you have anything tomorrow?”  
“No, but I have an opening on Wednesday. Does that work?”  
“Yeah, that’s fine. Do I have to bring anything?”  
“No, you can go over insurance details with my secretary.”  
“You have a—oh, that’s right. I almost forgot you run that place now.”  
“Yes. I only take on special cases for one-on-one appointments. Personal discretion.”  
“Am I a special case?” Will laughed. He knew the answer.  
“Wednesday, three o’clock.”  
_Beep._

Will stared at the faded green motel carpet. He could feel Hannibal’s hands ghosting around his shoulders.

_“You seem tense, Will.” Hannibal’s hands settled firmly on his arms. “Did you not like the production?”_  
_“No, no, it was delightful,” Will said, leaning back against him. “I particularly liked that one actress with the funny nose. You were right—it does give her voice a certain… je ne sais quoi.”_  
_“Good.” Hannibal’s breath tickled Will’s ear. Hannibal’s mouth followed it._  
_Will retreated into his mind as Hannibal continued. He turned around and played his part. While his hands, physically, were grasping Hannibal, in his mind he was grasping his fishing rod, casting out into the river._  
_It was only when Hannibal finished, hot and sticky and very much real, that Will was ripped from his sanctuary. He felt every itchy slide of it against his palm. He knew if he tried to wash it off, Hannibal would know._  
_Hand shaking, Will raised his palm to his mouth and licked._

A shiver startled Will back into reality. He dashed into the bathroom and retched until he couldn’t bring anything more up.


	2. chemistry till it blows up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> poor man gets a headache

Molly called the next morning.

“Hey, Will. I wanted to check in. You alright? You seemed pretty shaken up the other day.”  
“Yeah,” Will sighed. “Sorry about that. I didn’t mean to just show up like that. I should’ve called.”  
“Well, yeah. That would’ve been nice. But, it’s fine. What even happened with that? You said he kicked you out? I thought you guys were close.”  
“It’s complicated, Molls. I, uh… I didn't feel comfortable.”  
A pause. “Will, did he do something to you? Was it like… you know?”  
“No, no, no. It was nothing like that. Well, it sort of… he, um, he used to be a psychiatrist of mine, but it wasn’t like with—with Hannibal. It was when I was in the asylum. I, uh… I didn’t really trust the guy.”  
“So you left?”  
“No, I… It’s complicated. I don’t really want to talk about it.”  
“Okay. Well, if you… if you can’t find anywhere else to stay, my door is open.”  
“I’ll be fine.”  
“Okay. You still good to take Walt this weekend?”  
“Yeah, yeah. How was his sleepover last week?”  
“Good! Good, yeah. They watched _Nightmare on Elm Street_.”  
“Jesus! Did he get any sleep after that?”  
Molly laughed. “He doesn't mind them as much as you do, Will. You’re just a chicken.”  
“Maybe,” Will said, smiling. “Well, thanks for checking in. I’ll let you know if anything goes south.”  
“Yep! Talk to you later.”  
“Bye.”  
 _Beep._

A flush of warmth seeped into Will’s chest. Talking to Molly was comforting, even after everything.

After setting his phone down, he stared for several minutes at his shoes by the door. They were originally a deep brown, but had faded to nearly camel. The soles had permanent mud stains creeping up over the rubber to create a jagged line against the leather shoe body. He needed to get them replaced, soon, or at least thoroughly cleaned. They had mud from all manner of places on them, as well as other material. He’d had them for almost five years. 

He spent the rest of the morning watching daytime television. It was boring, but numb. By the time two p.m. rolled around, he realized he should probably get some food.

The nearest supermarket smelled of lemon Lysol and buzzed like a fly trapped in a screen. He grabbed a carton of eggs in pink styrofoam. His stomach rolled looking at it. He set it back down.

Someone stepped up behind him—tall, reaching. Will’s heart skipped a beat as he whipped around. A tall, pimple-faced teenage girl gave him a weird look and grabbed her own carton of eggs. Oh. His face burned. Studiously keeping his mind blank, he went into the canned foods aisle. 

There weren’t any pots or pans at the motel, but there was a small kitchenette. Molly might lend him their camping set. He picked up several cans of black beans. Their labels were bright with blocks of red and green like sweet peppers. 

No. This was stupid. Will shoved the beans haphazardly back onto the shelf as close to their original spot as he could find. He then went back and grabbed that pink carton of eggs, the styrofoam nauseatingly delicate. He picked out a half-gallon of skim milk, several frozen dinners, and made his way to the check-out lane.

He avoided the cashier’s gaze as she bagged his items, then hurried out to his car.

Waiting to pull out of the parking lot onto the street, Will punched the radio on. 

_“If you change your mind,_   
_I’m the first in line!”_

Damn it. Will fumbled to turn the thing off. A spot opened in traffic and he pulled out. He drove the rest of the way back in silence.

The plastic bags crinkled loudly as he set them on the small table. He missed his dogs. He should visit Molly. He’d be there this weekend to see Walter, but that was after

Alana.

It wasn’t that big of a deal. He wasn’t going to make it one. She was already uncomfortable with this situation. Will shouldn’t push it.

Did she hate him? Would she say he reminded her of Hannibal again? His chest stung at the memory. She was probably right. 

Was that why Walter didn’t want to see him at first? Had he somehow heard? Was he scared of Will?

Will ground his fists into his eyes. He was getting a headache.

The only way to fix this was to get Hannibal out of his head. End of discussion. He wasn’t going to hurt or trick a single other person—he wouldn’t let himself. 

He microwaved something with chicken and red sauce and ate it sitting on the bed. The meat was gummy in his mouth.

He flicked the TV on. Hearing himself chew was driving him up the walls. He flicked through several commercials until he landed on _Jeopardy!_

_“Zechariah predicted the new king would arrive in Jerusalem on one of these animals, and Jesus later does.”_

Donkey. It’s a donkey.

The first contestant, a blonde woman, pressed her buzzer.  
 _“Lara?”_  
 _“What is a camel?”_ She guessed. Idiot.  
 _“No.”_  
An angular man in a blue button-up lit up his screen.  
 _“Tim?”_  
 _“What is a donkey?”_  
Alex Trebek paused for effect. _“We’ll accept the donkey. It was an ass.”_  
They all chuckled.

“Ha!” Will gloated to the empty room. He was right!

The motel walls passed no judgment. Will felt very alone.

Molly liked to read in the evenings. He should have brought some books. He needed to get Walter into reading. The kid was way too interested in the Internet. 

His headache grew stronger, pulsing against the front of his skull. Did he have any Aspirin?

Squinting from the pain, Will dug through the two suitcases he’d brought. He found his razor, his new aftershave, a half-used bar of soap—ah. There it was. He unscrewed the lid and shook out two pills, crunching them dry.

He turned the TV off. Silence dropped down like a velvet blanket. His knee twinged. The joys of getting older. 

He got up and turned the lights off then went back to lie in bed. The darkness helped his headache, but only slightly. If Molly were here, she’d tell him to take a bath, to relax. That was never going to happen. As if he even liked baths.

He took care to breathe deeply and evenly. Someone in the neighboring motel started yelling and his headache worsened.

Can they keep it down? Will rubbed at the front of his head. It was—what?—eight o’clock on a Tuesday? What was so important that they needed to dish it out then and there?

He caught a few words seeping through the drywall.  
“—the pizza!”  
“If you hadn’t—“  
“— _your_ kid!”

Great. They were slinging insults. Will grabbed the second pillow and covered his head with it. Hopefully the Aspirin would kick in soon.

Eventually, they shut up, but only after Will heard a characteristic thumping. He drifted off to sleep thinking vague thoughts of dogs and autumn leaves.


	3. midnight sky

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> our queen alana makes her appearance

Alana welcomed him into her office with a smile that reeked of suspicion. She was beautiful, as always, and ever the professional. Her wedding band glittered brightly on her finger.

“How are you?” She greeted.  
“Not good. Obviously.”  
“You don’t have to be suffering to go to therapy, Will.”  
“Apparently _I_ do,” he said, sitting across from her.  
She folded her hands on the desk. “Why did you want an appointment?”  
“To get Hannibal out of my head.”  
She tilted her head. “It’s been years.” _Why now?_  
“I had a…” Will’s eyes drifted across the room. “What’s the term? Wake up call?”  
“Your divorce.”  
“Among other things.”  
She raised her brows. “Like what?”  
Will sighed. “I don’t see how that’s relevant to this conversation. I want to talk about Hannibal Lecter, Doctor.”  
He had a strong sense of _deja vu_ saying those words and sitting where he was. Was Hannibal really dead?  
“Hannibal is dead, Will.”  
“Then how come I—“ still see him?  
“What?”  
Will felt his nails dig into his palm. “I still feel his influence.”  
“In what way?”  
“In every way. What I say, what I do, whether I buy eggs or beans at the grocery store.”  
She frowned. “He is dead, Will. Whatever influence you feel is just a memory. And memories can be forgotten.”  
“Then how do I forget him?”  
She sighed. “Well, for starters, by not bringing him up in conversation. That phase of your life is passed. You’re your own man, now—especially since your separation from Molly.”  
Will scoffed. “He did always say he was going to take my family.”  
“Do you feel he’s done that?”  
“It’s not a matter of what I feel, it’s fact. My family is—it’s not _mine_ , anymore.”  
“The fact is that you are now divorced. What you should think about is whether you were the one who divorced Molly, or whether a dead man was.”  
Will tugged at his shirt cuffs. Alana was missing the point.   
“Of course I was the one who divorced her,” he said, “but the question is whether I was in full control of myself.”  
“Do you regret the decision?”  
Will paused a beat, then said, “No.”  
“Then I don’t think that’s a relevant question. You _are_ in control of yourself, Will. Are you unhappy with your recent decisions?”  
“I—I don’t know. Maybe. I can’t seem to think straight long enough to decide.”  
“You obviously wanted them at the time. Does seeing the consequences of your actions make you want to change your mind?”  
Will frowned. “Isn’t that always how it works? Hindsight is twenty-twenty?”  
Alana considered him for a moment, cheek resting against her palm.  
“Will,” she said, “what’s bothering you?”  
“ _Hannibal_ is bothering me,” he huffed. “Hannibal _has_ bothered me, _is_ bothering me, and _will continue_ to bother me well into the future. I’m never going to get rid of him. He is going to cling to my back like a lecherous insect—and—and—I’ll be eighty years old and I’ll still be thinking of him! He won! He won, in the end—don’t you see? He’s still _in_ me, somehow. I can’t wash him out.”  
If Alana would simply listen, she would understand. It was always Hannibal. Even before he’d met the man, he was under his spell. Nothing would ever go right in Will’s life unless Hannibal allowed it.  
Alana gave him a soft look, the suspicion dropping from her gaze. “Where is he, Will?”

  
Where _wasn’t_ he? Hannibal had invaded every single part of Will and Will could never keep him out—not until the very last moment. 

  
“He is my core,” Will said slowly. “I feel him in my chest, inside my fingers, behind my eyes… I look in the mirror and I see his face staring back at me. I know he’s dead in the ground, but I… I keep thinking that he lived, somehow, through me—that I carried a part of him like a talisman.”  
“Do you think of him often?”  
Will looked at the bookshelf behind Alana. “Yes and no. It depends.”  
“Do you talk to him?”  
“Yes. Sometimes.”  
“You realize you’re never going to forget him if you keep pretending he’s still here, right?”  
Will frowned. “He planned this all along. He wanted me to live.”  
Alana said something that Will couldn’t catch. Hannibal had never wanted him to die—of course not. He was supposed to keep living, rotting, and breaking down. He was a constant reminder of Hannibal’s power. He could kill even after death. He _was_ killing after death. He was killing…  
“Will?” Alana pressed.  
Will tugged at his cuffs. “I’m his patsy. He wanted me to kill him.”  
Alana leaned back in her chair. “Will, did you kill Hannibal _for_ Hannibal?”  
His gaze fell. “I—no.”  
“Then who did you kill him for?”  
He shrugged. “Justice? Safety? A higher power? He was a killer and a menace to society. It would be irresponsible _not_ to kill him.”  
“Then you didn’t follow his plan, Will.”  
“But what if I did inadvertently?”  
“If you were not doing it to serve him, then it wasn’t what he wanted,” Alana said firmly. “You did it on your own terms, to serve your own ethics. It wasn’t _for_ him; it was for you. You did that. You have agency, Will.”

  
It didn’t feel like he had agency. It felt like he was a ghost, impressing on the world only to have his footsteps blown away. What had he ever done that would be remembered? What had _he_ ever done? He had played parts and pretended over and over again, and _that’s_ what people would remember about him. He was an actor, except there was no stage. There was no way to get out of character. There was no boundary.

  
“I hope so,” he said.  
Alana smiled at him. “Sometimes, when we go through traumatic events, we find ways to escape. We are scared, we are in pain, and we need comfort. So, we often retreat inside ourselves. We separate body from mind. Many people do this. It’s extremely common. But, it’s not sustainable.”  
Will scoffed. “Believe me, if I knew another way…”  
“Isn’t that why you came to me?”  
When Will didn’t respond, Alana continued. “It may be useful for you, in combination with other methods, to try adding some mindfulness into your day.”  
“I can’t just breathe my way into forgetting Hannibal. It doesn't work like that.”  
“It is not a solution. There may not be a complete solution. But, it is several steps in the right direction—and it’s easy.” Alana reached into her desk and pulled out some papers. “I used to use these when I worked in family therapy.” She slid them across the desk to Will. “You should try them.”  
Will grabbed the papers and folded them hastily without looking at them. They weren’t going to be any good, anyway.  
“Your hour is up,” Alana said. “But I want you to remember something, Will. That right there—“ she pointed at him “—is _your_ body. Nobody else’s.”  
Thrown by what she had said, Will didn’t reply. He simply nodded and left the room.

Alana had requested that they keep their meetings professional and strictly business; he was happy to comply. He didn’t want Margot to think he was trying anything. Frankly, that was the last thing he wanted to do. He was tired of drama.

So, after stopping with her secretary to give his insurance information, he left the building and headed out to his car. The air was crisp and it nipped at his exposed ears.

He drove home. At a stoplight near the motel, he saw someone exit a restaurant in a wheelchair. His eye was caught. Was it—? Did he—?

No, it was an older woman with her husband.

The car behind him honked and Will noticed the light was green. He sped off down the road, gritting his teeth.


	4. hard times

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> fred and fred and janet

Frederick had spent the past several days since The Incident wallowing in self-pity. He stayed up too late, he drank too much, he drowned himself in coffee. Tuesday night he had stayed in his bathtub so long his fingers pruned and the water turned cold.

He finally pulled the plug around 11pm and toweled off before heading to bed. Coco jumped up onto the bed once he had burrowed himself under the blankets sufficiently. A familiar lonely ache settled in his chest and he let it burn.

It was his own fault, honestly. How long had the whole thing been? Two months? One? He had been much too open, too giving, too trusting. He had opened his home to a man who had pretended to be a serial killer for two years without even asking for a reference check. What had even drawn him in? Was he really that much of a sucker for a pretty face and blue eyes? If he could live his life over again, Frederick would simply avoid any and all men that he found attractive. Somehow, he was always drawn to monsters. 

He had always had some silly, naive belief in soulmates. It might have been his upbringing speaking, but it was sweet to think that there was someone _made_ for you, specially. Perhaps he was just fated to be alone.

He threw an arm around Coco and pretended that everything was alright. It didn’t work, but he didn't need to know that.

He overslept the next morning, shutting his alarm off and stupidly putting his head back down. It was nearly nine o’clock by the time he jolted out of bed. 

His morning got worse when he found he was out of coffee. He didn't have time to get any before work. He’d have to make do with Davis’s weak pot in the lobby. Amazing. His head pounded as he got into his car. At least the local radio stations had good music. 

The sky was clear and bright. It bucked his mood a little. He loved the sunshine.

His day passed slowly and he was happy to finally leave at four o’clock. Thinking he deserved a treat, he stopped at a high-end grocery store in Baltimore. They carried a specific organic coffee that he hadn’t been able to find anywhere in Annapolis.

He didn’t bother to grab a basket since he was only there for coffee. But, of course, as soon as he was in the store, he started wandering. Something about the identical aisles and subtle manipulation drew him towards the extensive vegan selection this store offered. He had never been one for meat substitutes—he would much rather just switch his palate entirely—but those meatless chicken nuggets pulled him in with their siren song of salt and memories from his college years.

Staring at the shelves, he backed up a little to reach one of the lower shelves and promptly bumped into someone behind him.

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” he said, turning around.

Freddie Lounds blinked down at him. “It’s no trouble, Doctor Chilton.”

They stared at each other, both a little shocked.

“Am I in your way?” Frederick asked.   
“No, no, I was actually looking at the cashew cheese.”  
“Are you vegan?”  
“Yes, I am.”  
“By choice?”

She smiled darkly. “Yes, by choice.”

Frederick suddenly remembered who he was and who she was and ostentatiously turned back to the meatless meat. Freddie rummaged through the cheese options, a red shopping basket resting in the crook of her elbow. It was odd to see her doing something so pedestrian. Frederick almost expected her to be placing a secret camera under the shelf.

But, no. She picked out two or three items, put them in her basket, and left. Frederick fiddled with his bag of coffee for a moment then went to check out.

He could have told Freddie about Will. He could have spilled everything. Will probably deserved it, anyway. He’d been a complete dick to Frederick and he knew it. Sure, he’d offered some weak little apology for ‘leading him on,’ but that wasn’t going to cut it. What kind of person automatically assumed that anything good, any kindness, was simply a ruse meant to deceive and destroy?

Oh. Well. Will definitely fit _that_ description.

But, it didn't excuse what he’d done. Frederick had been plenty traumatized, yet he wasn’t going around tricking people and invading their homes. If he had been so certain that Frederick was a killer—

_“You’re not a killer, Frederick.” Will’s gaze held steady. He had dark circles under his eyes and he looked a mess._

_Frederick felt himself deflate. He wanted to scream, ‘Then why won’t you help me?!’_

—then why hadn’t he simply looked for evidence or reported him to the authorities? Not that he would find anything, of course, but it was a great deal more efficacious than trying to tease a killer out of him. If anything, Will’s methods were nearly exactly like Hannibal’s.

Frederick felt his shoulders seize up, nearly swerving into the next lane on the highway.

Why couldn’t he just have a normal relationship with a normal person? Why did everything always have to get so complicated? All of his old friends were either killers, dead, or both. He’d hoped— _God_ , he’d hoped—that Will could be a friend, a normal friend. 

He pulled into his driveway and waved at Janet. He’d been avoiding her for the past several days, hurrying into his car and only collecting his mail after dark. He really didn’t want to talk about Will.

“Freddy!” Janet called, walking over.

Frederick sighed. He could always just reverse back onto the road and leave.

“Freddy, I wanted to talk with you!” Janet’s knuckles rapped against the glass.  
Frederick pasted on a smile and rolled the window down.  
“Hello, Janet. How are you today?”  
“Good, good. How are you? I saw your young man left,” she added with a significant look.   
“Yes, I—“  
“You know,” she cut him off, whispering, "you shouldn’t tell anyone, but I know someone who knows someone who can get you the pills.”  
Frederick blinked. “What?”  
She stared at his crotch. “For your package.”  
Frederick felt his face blush an ugly shade of crimson. “Janet, I really don’t think that’s—“  
“Nonsense, honey. Now, I’ll let you get back to what you were doing, but you let me know if you ever want some. They did wonders for my husband back in the day.”  
With that, she walked back into her house, leaving Frederick to gape like an idiot in his car.

The nerve she had! That wasn’t even his problem, anyway. At least, he didn’t think so.

He scrubbed a hand over his eyes and exited the car. What a shit show his life had become…


	5. can't pin me down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> dad stuff sorta

Saturday morning, Will woke up with another searing headache. He stumbled into the bathroom and threw up into the sink. Digging his nails into his palms, he tried to steady himself. This couldn’t be happening again.

He picked Walter up around 9am, ignoring the burning behind his eyes.  
“How are you doing, bud?” Will smiled.  
Walter shrugged. “Good.”  
“I heard you had fun at that sleepover.”  
“Yeah. Jimmy was there. He brought his Switch.”  
“Ah.” The hell is a Switch? “Did you guys do your dances?”  
“They’re called _TikToks_ , Will. And yeah, we did a couple.”  
Will nodded. “Right, right. How are the dogs? You taking good care of them?”  
“You know I do.”  
“Good.”

Will waited a few moments, then asked, “Do you want to get something to eat?”  
“No, I already ate.”  
“Okay.”

Will drove the rest of the way back to the motel in silence. When they got inside, Walter went straight to the table and unzipped his backpack, taking out his laptop.

“Homework on the weekend?” Will asked.  
“Yeah.”  
Will nodded, not wanting to press. He could tell Walter was still a little irritated with him, and honestly? He didn’t blame the kid.

The past couple of months had been a mess. The divorce wasn't a new thing; they’d been talking about it ever since their first argument after Cuba. Will had startled away from Molly one time too many and she'd brought up the boyfriend she'd had while he was dead and it spilled out of them at almost the same time. But, they hadn’t told Walter till September, and that was what made it real.

Since then, the kid had expressed a variety of opinions. It was understandable. Will knew he’d had many different thoughts about his own parents’ separation throughout the years. Most recently, though, Walter had been trying to keep some level of formality between himself and Will. 

For his part, Will didn't really know whether Walter considered him more of a parent or a friend of his mother’s, and he didn’t want to get inside his head. His opinions about Will were his own and he didn't need Will trying to change his mind. Still, it was confusing to not know how close Walter even wanted them to be.

They spent the afternoon quiet and exchanging small talk. Walter eventually gave up some details about his classes. Will asked about the friends he could remember and received two- or three-word replies about them.

Finally, at 6pm, Walter shut his laptop and asked about dinner.

“What would you like?” Will asked. “I can make something here, or we can order out.”  
“Can we get iHop? They won’t deliver out to our house.”  
“iHop delivers?”  
“Uh, yeah. They have for a while.”  
“Okay. Well, what’s the number?”  
“Just use the app.”  
“There’s an iHop _app?_ ”  
Walter sighed. “I’ll just do it.”

Will fought off the useless feeling that Walter’s words inspired. It wasn’t his fault he’d been mandated to use a brick of a Blackberry in the FBI, and then to go completely without a phone in Cuba. 

_“There,” Hannibal said. “It’s finished.”_   
_They were standing on the edge of a pier and had just chucked the battered remains of their cell phones into the dark water._   
_Will nodded. “Completely separated. We are part of our own world. Out with the old, in with the new.”_   
_Hannibal glanced at him. His profile was stark and fleshy in the low light._   
_“I might get myself a new one. Disposable. You can ask me to call anyone, if you desperately need to.” A challenge._   
_“Who would I call?”_   
_Hannibal smiled._

Will came over to stand behind Walter. “So how do you use it? You just plug in what you want and they give it to you? How do they know where to deliver it?”  
“You give them your address,” Walter explained. “It's actually pretty easy.”  
“Huh.”

When their pancakes arrived, Will was fairly impressed.  
“They even bothered to include the little blob of whipped cream.”  
Walter nodded, attention already consumed by his order of double chocolate chip pancakes.

They ate quietly, but Will felt a tangible shift in the air. It had been a while since the two of them had simply sat down together for a meal—without company. It was nice. It made Will feel more… whole?

Unfortunately, the moment didn’t last very long. Will’s headache had been throbbing all day and came back with a vengeance while he was eating. His stomach lurched and he shakily got up to run to the bathroom.  
“Sorry,” he grit out. “Just a sec.”

He didn’t vomit again, but nearly did. For several minutes he contemplated the underside of the toilet seat, willing his guts to cooperate. It was embarrassing to dash off like this, and worrying. His eyes throbbed with the beating of his heart and his vision swam. This was the absolute last thing he needed to be worrying about right now. He hadn’t had a headache like this since—

_“He’s had a mild seizure,” Hannibal said to Dr. Gideon._   
_Will felt his hearing go in and out, picking up only pieces of their conversation. Was something burning?_

—Will clenched his jaw hard. Phantom feelings of violation and betrayal flooded his mind. He wanted to rip off his skin and crawl out of it. His own body had allowed Hannibal such control, such power over him. His stomach lurched painfully. 

This was not going to happen again. He wouldn’t let it. 

Head throbbing, he pushed himself off the floor and put his hand on the doorknob. Not again. His hand was shaking.

Alana’s words came back to him. _“That right there is your body. Nobody else’s.”_

Will swallowed thickly and made up his mind. It was going to be different this time. 

He stumbled into the main room. Walter looked up from his plate then rushed to his side.  
“Will, are you okay?”  
“I need you to call an ambulance,” Will gasped, then collapsed back onto the floor.

He watched as Walter grabbed his phone, then squeezed his eyes shut and let it all fade away.


	6. half of my heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> sick boy

Will woke up in a hospital bed. Walter was nowhere to be found, but Molly had left her purse in one of the bedside chairs. Hopefully, she had taken the kid out for a snack or something. 

Will felt a pang of guilt remembering what had happened. Gee, he really deserved ‘Dad of the Year’ for these past months. He kept missing appointments and then passed out on one of the only full weekends they had gotten together. When had he become so thoughtless?

There was an IV in his hand and it itched. Will had the irrational thought to yank it out but thought better of it. Hannibal was dead (and whatever he was being given didn’t feel like sodium amytal).

For the next several hours, Will drifted in and out of consciousness. Everything seemed hazy, like he was looking at it through a dirty window. He felt someone grab his hand a couple times. He wanted to grab back.

At some point during the day, a figure materialized in the door. Will smelled flowers.

Frederick. He came.

Was Hannibal dead? Where was this place? He needed to talk to Jack. Why was there no dressing on his stomach?

The figure stepped closer and morphed into two.

“Hi, Will,” Alana Bloom greeted, setting a bouquet of flowers on Will’s bedside table.

Oh.

Will swallowed around his dry tongue. “Hello, Alana. Margot.”

Margot stood behind Alana, hands tucked under her arms. Every line of her face was hard, betraying her discomfort with the situation. She had probably only agreed to her wife visiting if she came, too. Interesting that there was such a lack of trust. Perhaps it was residual, from past trauma. Perhaps it was not. Perhaps it simply had to do with who Will was.

“How are you feeling?” Alana asked.  
Will sighed. Was he feeling anything?  
“I feel dizzy. And tired. Thirsty.” He grasped for the cup on his bedside table.  
Alana helped him to it, holding it near his face.   
“Thank you,” he said.  
“We can’t stay long,” Margot cut in. “Sorry.”  
Will nodded. “Thank you for coming.”  
Alana shoved her hands in her pockets. “I wanted to see how you were handling things. I know this must be tough for you.”  
“I appreciate it,” Will said. “And thank you, too, Margot.”  
Margot’s hand clenched slightly but she gave him a smile.  
“I had heard of encephalitis returning,” Alana said, “but I had hoped it wouldn’t, for your sake. Have you heard of any long-term treatment?”  
“I haven’t talked with the doctor much, yet. Only the nurses.”  
Alana nodded. “Do you know when you're leaving?”  
“Not for at least a week for observation.”  
“I’ll make sure to cancel your appointment, then. Let us know if you need anything, Will. We’d be happy to help.”

Will nodded, then felt his stomach churn and closed his eyes. By the time he opened them, Alana and Margot had left and Molly and Walter were sitting at his bedside.

“How are you doing, Will?” Molly asked. “You need more water? Can I do anything?”  
“I’m fine,” Will said. “And I’m real sorry about all this, Walt. It’s not fair to you.”  
Walter shook his head. “No, I’m just worried about you, Will. That was really scary. You just went all white and fell down.”

It wasn’t fair to Walter to have to take care of Will. He should feel comforted, protected, safe, and not like he needed to constantly watch out in case Will was going to get hurt. Some deep, inner part of Will that sounded a lot like his dad was chastising him for not being man enough. How tough could you even be, though, when your own body was taking you down?

“I’m sorry,” Will said. “I don’t know why it came back now. I don’t know why it came back at all. And I’m supposed to be starting at the Academy, too.” He rubbed at his eyes. “This is a mess. I appreciate you two sticking with me. You really didn’t have to.”  
Molly gave him a smile. “We know.”

They stayed until nearly four o’clock, but then had to leave. Molly promised to bring Walter by the next day.

A nurse came by with dinner for him and asked him some questions about how he was feeling. Will stared at the whiteboard with ten different smiley faces and tried to answer honestly. It wasn’t that he was in pain, it was more that he wasn’t comfortable. The painkillers dulled anything immediate but that vague sense that something was off lingered. 

He compromised and told the nurse he was at a four.

After dinner, Will soon faded into the drug-induced haze that he had become so familiar with. 

_His back was hot, livid. He was burnt._

_Something was pressing against his ribcage. It pressed closer with every beat of his heart._

_He struggled to get to his feet, toes slipping in the cool sand. Dusk. He wasn’t where he was supposed to be. Someone was going to find him. Catch him. The policia had already come to the house. They were going to be coming after him soon._

_He looked down and saw it in the sand—the gun._

_Had he done it? Had he really done it? His mouth tasted of old cigarettes._

_He needed a phone._

_He grabbed the gun and took off down the beach. His calves burned with each step. He’d been running for hours._

_He stumbled and fell to his knees, retching into the ocean. The picturesque beach was marred with his footsteps, his presence. Hopefully his vomit would rid some of the drugs from his system._

_Was it over? Could he go home?_

_Would they even believe him?_

_Wiping his mouth, he pushed himself upright again and continued on his path. Phone. He needed a phone. His head throbbed as he ran._


	7. the run and go

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> will's next therapy sesh

The next week passed slowly but uneventfully. Will spent most of it either sitting in the hospital, nauseous, or finally back at the motel, still nauseous. His prescription was lengthy and seemed to do nothing to help him keep food down. 

He was lucid, though, so he counted it as a win.

It was raining the day of his next appointment with Alana and his hair dripped on her expensive floor runner. She was dressed in a sharp navy blue pinstripe that week, with her hair in bouncy curls that reminded Will of her wife.

“How are you feeling?” She asked.  
Will shrugged. “Better. I can concentrate. My headaches are gone.”  
“Good.”  
“Yeah. The nausea’s another story. I threw up half a bagel the other day.”  
Alana grimaced. “You are looking a little wan. Did you find any time to do those exercises I gave you?”  
Will racked his brain. “The mindfulness page? No, I—I must have lost it.”  
“I’ll give you another. It’s very important that you try and do these every day. It doesn’t have to take a long time, but the act of slowing down and noticing your life will be crucial to taking back your sense of agency. You can’t change your life if you aren’t present.”  
Will chuckled. “I’ve been changing it, alright. Just not in the direction I want.”  
“Then _you_ aren’t really doing it,” she countered.  
“I thought you said _I_ was the one who ruined my family, not Hannibal.”  
“Is your family ruined?”  
“I… I suppose it has to be, doesn’t it? It’s gone. I’m not a part of it, anymore. But that’s not the point. I thought you were trying to get me to take agency. Did you change your mind?”

Half of Will wanted that to be true. He wanted Alana to tell him that Hannibal really had ruined everything for him. He wanted to fuel his rage, his undying fury towards the man. He wanted a reason to travel out to that grave and piss all over it.

“First off,” Alana began. “Your family isn’t ruined. Relationships are hardly ever completely ruined by divorce, just damaged. Besides, it seemed like Molly and Walter still care a lot about you. That’s certainly not ruined. And I’m not saying you had no agency in recent events. I’m saying that, perhaps, your agency was focused in a different direction. If you had really wanted to save your marriage, wouldn’t you have done so?”  
“Of course.”  
“And you didn’t. Which means?”  
“I didn’t want to.”  
“Exactly. It doesn’t mean that a dead man was pulling the strings, it means that you did what you wanted, which was to divorce Molly.”  
That still didn’t explain the situation with Frederick, though.  
“Do you think I’m a bad person?” Will asked suddenly.  
Alana raised her brows. “No. Do _you_ think you’re a bad person?”  
“I don’t know. If you look at Judeo-Christian morality, I’m firmly in the grey area.”  
“Nobody’s perfect, Will. If you want to be a good person, chances are, you already are.”  
“Hannibal _wanted_ to be a good person. He’d spend hours explaining his reasoning for things and then go out and—and _eat_ people.”  
“I don’t think he wanted to be a good person, Will, I think he wanted to be understood. The two are quite different.”  
Will sighed. “Maybe. I don't know. I don’t know a lot of things.”  
Alana considered him for a moment, then asked, “I heard you’re going to be teaching again. How do you feel about that? Are you excited?”  
“Yeah. I like teaching. I have a lot to get ready, still. I’ve been working on a lesson plan for a while but it’s got a few things still to polish up.”  
Alana smiled. “Good. It’s good to get out of the house, do something.”  
Will returned her smile. He _was_ excited to teach again. It was one of the few things that he had always loved, since he was a child. There was something about working through a concept with someone, seeing the way their mind worked, that had always attracted him. Psychiatry probably offered the same to Alana.  
“I just worry I’m about to ruin their minds, or something,” he said. “Fill them up with nastiness. Make them like me.”  
“Oh, Will.” Alana frowned. “You’re not nasty.”  
Will gave a weak shrug. “You don’t know everything I’ve done.”  
“What you did with Hannibal wasn’t—it wasn’t _you_ , Will. You… It was the job. You had to do it.”  
It was a pathetic excuse and they both knew it. Still, it was the only thing that had kept him walking free.  
“It’s just… Ever since I got back, I feel like I’m different. I’m not the same me that I was before him. I don't know if I ever will be. I think he’s…” Will swallowed thickly. “I think he’s ruined me.”  
“Why do you say that?”  
Will sighed, closing his eyes. “I… I tried to—to manipulate someone. Again. Like… like he used to.”  
Alana frowned, blinking rapidly. “What happened?”  
“Nothing happened. He—damn it—it was _Frederick_ , Doctor Chilton. I was… I was trying to get him to crack, get him to try and use me. I didn’t trust him. I tried to push him. I wanted to see whether, if given the opportunity, he would take advantage of me like Hannibal did. He… of course, he didn’t, because he’s not Hannibal, he’s never _been_ Hannibal, but I still just can’t trust him. I feel like I can’t trust anyone.”  
Alana twisted her wedding ring around on her finger. “What was it about him that scared you? The fact he’s a psychiatrist?”  
“No… yes… I don’t know. He was all _different_. He has a dog, now. And flowers. It seemed fake. It looked like a… like a character he made specifically to draw me in.”  
“People are allowed to change, Will. I know Frederick’s had a tough time these past years, probably tougher than most of us, besides you. He probably didn’t want to be reminded of before. And you’re certainly the last person I’d have thought to begrudge someone a dog,” she added, smiling.  
Will huffed. “It’s not the dog. And it’s not the house, not really. It just… something was off. It seemed… It was too perfect, when I was living there. It’s never perfect when it’s real. It was never perfect with Molly.”  
“Though, you two didn’t work out, in the end,” Alana pointed out.  
Will ran a hand through his hair. “I know, I know, but… there was something weird. It was like Hannibal, but not. It was… I don't know. It was just—just too perfect. I didn't trust him.”  
Alana tilted her head. “What do you mean by perfect?”  
“There was… There was this pull. This electricity. I never knew how he was going to react. It was… it was _like_ attraction. He used to try and make me interested in him, sexually, by drugging me.”

“Who, Frederick?” Alana asked, alarmed.  
“No, Hannibal. It was a power play. It had no meaning. I know Frederick wasn’t drugging me, because… he was actually interested,” Will said with a grimace.  
Alana furrowed her brows. “So, let me get this straight. You didn’t trust him because you were… attracted to him?”  
“No, I said it was _like_ attraction.”  
“Okay. So, why wasn’t it attraction?”  
Will floundered for words. “Because… Because…”  
“Will,” Alana began, leaning forward, “have you ever considered that you might be bisexual?”  
Will felt his face get hot. That wasn’t the point! It wasn’t the point at all.   
“It doesn’t matter,” he said. “I just… The point is that he—he admitted it! He admitted he was manipulating me. He said he liked me. He was trying to—to get me to like him back.”  
Alana frowned. “Will, what exactly did he say?”  
“He said that he liked me.”  
“Did he tell you that he was employing unethical means, such as non-consensual drug use, to get you to like him back? Did he say anything about that?”  
Will swallowed. “No.”  
Alana raised her brows. “Then, Will—and I can’t believe I have to say this—it’s not manipulation. It’s not Frederick’s fault if he’s attracted to you. It’s not predatory. It’s _not_ manipulative. It’s normal.”  
Deep down, Will knew that was true. But it still didn’t sit right. Where was the push and pull? The initial rejection? Why had Frederick just welcomed him, with open arms and no questions asked? How was that not suspicious?  
“But it felt just like what Hannibal did,” Will pleaded.  
“Will, how is he supposed to know that? How is he, or anyone else for that matter, supposed to know if they’re doing something that reminds you of Hannibal? I could be doing something like him right now.”  
“You’re not.”  
“That’s not the point. The point is that Hannibal is dead. He didn’t, and certainly doesn’t now, own any mode of behavior or any specific feeling. He was always just a man, and nothing more. An awful, twisted, evil man, but a man nonetheless. You can’t keep giving him so much power.”  
Will frowned. “He can’t… Frederick can’t just like me. That can’t be all.”  
“Why not? So what if he does?”  
“Then—then…” Shit.  
“Why not, Will?”  
“Because…” He sighed. “Because he can’t just be genuinely kind to me, no strings attached. It can’t be that easy. He can’t just have been that nice for no reason.”  
“Will, good things do happen. And he’s not an awful man. He’s gotten a lot nicer recently. It’s probably age,” she added with a smile.  
Will shook his head. “No. It can’t be that simple.”  
“Will…”  
Will screwed his eyes shut.   
“It can’t be that simple because then it really was that perfect and I messed it all up,” he blurted out.  
Damn it. This is why he didn't want to go to therapy.  
“Well,” Alana said. “You can do something about it.”  
“Like what? He probably hates me now, and I don’t blame him.”  
Alana shrugged. “There’s a million different things you could do, Will. Think about it. You can make your own choices. You can choose your own path.”  
Will smiled. “You’re very inspirational.”  
She grinned. “I think it’s the trauma. Now, let me get those worksheets for you. I think your hour is up.”


	8. all too well

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> fred n alana

Frederick had spent the last few days pointedly not looking down when in the bath. He certainly didn't need any reminder of Janet’s ridiculous offer. Who even said that to their neighbor? Of course Frederick would end up living next to someone like Janet. Why couldn’t he have a neighbor who complimented his package? Was that too much to ask? Or, better yet, one who simply did not notice!

That day, a Saturday, he took Coco out for a walk on the docks by the Naval Academy. Annapolis was gorgeous even in the colder weather and Frederick enjoyed the brisk wind off the water. He had taken Will out here before to look at the boats one of those wistful October mornings. He wished there was some direction he could avoid that would help him not to think of that.

He wondered what his mother thought of him, suddenly. Was he weak, in her eyes? Gullible? Or did she simply not care, anymore?

After about half an hour, he walked Coco back to the house. 

Standing on his front porch, knocking on his door, was none other than Alana Bloom.

“Ah, Doctor Bloom!” Frederick greeted. “Sorry, I was just out walking Coco.”  
Alana turned and gave him a wide smile. She was holding a baking dish tucked in one arm and reached out with the other to pet Coco.  
“What a sweetheart,” she cooed at the dog. “Applesauce hates being pet by anyone besides the family. Anyway, sorry for not calling. I just had the idea and then I sort of wound up in the car and… well. I made brownies! They’re vegan.”  
“Oh, how kind,” Frederick said flatly, moving past her to unlock the door. “Come inside. What brings you to my doorstep?”

He’d last seen Alana Bloom at a conference, nearly a year ago. While they hadn’t completely avoided each other these past five years, they hadn’t really been social. Frederick couldn’t remember the last time he’d actually visited Doctor Bloom’s house. Perhaps she was finally sick of pretending that people couldn’t move on.

“Well, it’s nothing professional, actually,” she said, sitting at the kitchen table. “I, uh, I just realized we hadn’t caught up in a while.”  
“Yes, the last I remember hearing from you was a recording that Freddie Lounds played to me on the topic of myself and Will Graham. It seemed you were trying to, uh, stir the pot? Did she offer you any grand sums for that one? Any trips to Bali for the wife?” Frederick shot her a contemptuous glance as he moved to put the coffee pot on.  
Alana’s shoulders deflated a little. “No. I was… It was wrong of me to do that. I was sick of Freddie calling me up so I finally cracked. She really only wanted to talk about Will. She even accused me of cheating on my wife. I guess I was trying to shift the blame.”  
“Well, I do make an easy target,” Frederick said, crossing his arms. “Why are you really here? Why did you bring _brownies?_ I don’t have anything I can offer you. I don’t do criminal psych anymore.”  
“I wanted to talk to you,” Alana replied simply.   
Frederick scoffed. “About Will Graham?”  
“Yes and no. I was concerned about you. I heard that some things… happened.”  
“Things happened?” He repeated.  
“Yes. I was hoping you could elaborate.”  
Frederick smiled dryly. “What is your relationship to Will Graham right now, anyway? Sounds to me like you’re trying to weasel out of that doctor-patient confidentiality agreement. Are you seeing him therapeutically?”  
“I am,” Alana said, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. “And I was. Sue me. I was curious.”  
“He really has made the rounds, hasn’t he? First Doctor Lecter, then me, now you. And you want to discuss a patient, but not professionally. How very—what’s the term?— _unethical_ of you, Doctor Bloom.”  
He got out two mugs and poured them both coffee before sitting across from Alana. He might be pissed at her, but he wasn’t about to turn down some vegan brownies.  
“I don’t want to discuss Will’s therapy,” Alana said. “All I want to know is whether he threatened you and whether I should take this to the police. He said some things that concerned me regarding you and I wanted to keep the record straight.”  
“He did not threaten me with physical violence, no. He never tried to eat me. He didn’t even make a single joke about it. He’s no Hannibal, Alana.”  
“I know that. I’m—I’m glad. I just… I got concerned. I know you—with the—you know.”  
“What?”  
“The whole…” She gestured vaguely at him.  
"The chair? You can say it. You were in one before, too. So, what? You thought he’d overpower me or something? That’s why you were concerned? Poor little disabled Frederick taken advantage of by Mr. Big Strong Arm of the Law?”  
“I don’t think he counts as an arm of the law anymore.”  
“Once a cop, always a cop in my book. These are very good,” he added, taking a bite of brownie.  
“Thanks. And I don’t think you’re weak, I just think Will’s had a hell of a lot more training in taking someone down than you have. You don’t exactly have the best track record when it comes to defending yourself.”  
Frederick shot her a nasty look.  
“I'm only saying," she said, giving a shrug. “If it were me, I would appreciate someone checking up on me after they found out I’d been visited by an ex-cannibal.”  
“Technically, we are all ex-cannibals.”  
Alana suppressed a shudder. “You know what I mean.”  
“What do you want me to say? ‘Thank you for bothering to check up after five years? I’m still doing shitty?’”  
“Maybe. I don’t know.”  
“I don't owe you gratitude for this, besides the brownies,” Frederick said. “I never asked you to check on me.”  
Alana clenched her jaw. “Frederick, I’m trying my best, here. I know I haven’t been the most attentive friend recently—“  
“We’re friends?”  
“— _but_ I am trying to remedy that. Can you not even let me try?”  
“I would let you if I thought you were actually interested in my wellbeing. But we both know that isn’t the case. You’re only here to gather more gossip for the obdurate Ms. Lounds. You know, I wonder I shouldn’t tell your wife about that,” he added coyly.  
Alana seemed to finally reach her breaking point. Her jaw set and she sat up tall.  
“Frederick, I don’t appreciate the accusations. I know we aren’t on the best terms. We’ve never been. But at least we’ve been civil. And I… I regret cutting you all out. It wasn’t fair.”  
Frederick wiped the crumbs off of his fingers. “Do you even have any idea how much I paid in hospital bills? In physical therapy? In dermatology appointments? Do you have even the faintest inkling?”  
“If you needed financial help, you could’ve always said so.”  
“It’s not about the _money_. I’ve had to rearrange my entire life, turn it upside down and sideways, just to stay out of a long-term care facility. Jimmy Price came to visit me in the hospital. Jimmy Price! And you know what he said? He offered to drive me home when I got out. And I hadn’t even spoken to him once! I don’t give a rat’s ass about your money. I don’t need it. I just think it’s funny how you come crawling back here trying to be my _friend_ right after you start treating Will. What are you trying to find? My big old embarrassing secret? Well, here’s one for you: I don’t care. Go ahead and tell Freddie Lounds. I let Will stay with me because I liked him. I thought he was a real stand-up guy. And you know what else? I wanted to kiss the hell out of him. So sue me. I put my heart in the wrong basket and it bit me in the ass. There’s your fucking gossip. That’s all there is.”  
A slight flush had crept up Alana’s neck. Her brows were drawn and her mouth was tight.  
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m sorry I didn’t help you out more. But, it’s been five years, Frederick—“  
He scoffed.  
“—and I think you should really try to see this from my point of view. Margot was traumatized. I had to help her. And I have a son, now. She didn’t want me to have anything to do with you, or anyone else. It’s really not as personal as you seem to think.”  
The two stared at each other across the table, coffee mugs steaming.   
“Well,” Alana said after a moment, “if you’re so insistent on refusing me, then I’ll go. Keep the brownies. I don’t need the pan back.”  
“Don’t let the door hit you on the way out,” Frederick replied. Then, as she started to walk away, he called out, “Say hi to Ms. Lounds for me!”

The nerve Alana had! Could she seriously think that a pan of brownies and some polite conversation would make up for how she had treated him? It was ridiculous. 

And why couldn’t anyone leave him alone about Will Graham? Were they so starved for drama?

Unfortunately, that probably wasn’t the case for Alana. Shit, had Will said something? Did he tell Alana that he thought Frederick was a killer? Was that why Alana had visited? Christ, he just couldn’t catch a break.

He wondered whether Will really did hate him. He could still see the cold detachment in Will’s eyes, standing by the window in his mother’s house. Damn, that still stung.

Why had he done it? There had to be some reason. The alternative—that there was just something inherently distasteful and unlovable about Frederick—was too much to bear.

There had to be a reason.


	9. paint me any color

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> will actually uses his brain for once

Will got used to the steroids more over the next week. His nausea had mostly dissipated and he found it easier to concentrate. Then came Monday and his first day back teaching. It went blessedly well and Will basked in the relief that followed. He looked up when he saw Brian Zeller walk in.

“Hey, Will,” he greeted.  
Will smiled. “Oh, hi. I didn’t realize the news had gotten out so quickly.”  
“Nah, I just happened to overhear the right conversation. Might have told a few people. Nothing big.”  
Will chuckled. “Where’s Jimmy?”  
“He had some big date planned for the hubbie. He says hi, though. Says we should get drinks sometime soon. The whole deal. Anyway, how are you doing? It’s been literal ages. I heard about, uh, the whole Molly thing.”  
“Really? Who told you?”  
“Freddie Lounds, would you believe it?”  
Will rolled his eyes. “She seems to be very interested in my life as of late. I think she needs a new hobby.”  
“You _are_ her hobby, man. Get used to it,” Zeller said, with a smile.   
“Yeah. I’m doing pretty well, honestly. Keeping my head above water.”  
Zeller nodded, eyes kind. “Good, good. That’s really good, man.”  
“What about you?” Will asked. “Same old, same old? Anything interesting?”  
Zeller chuckled. “As if. Nah, it’s pretty typical. I do have a new girlfriend, though.”  
“Oh, really? What’s her name?”  
“Katie. She’s pretty cool. She owns this little bakery in Fredericksburg.”  
Will grinned. “That sounds wonderful.”  
“Yeah! I should bring her around sometime. She’d love to meet all of you.” Zeller checked his watch. “Anyway, I just wanted to stop by. I gotta run, though. Jack needs me to do these tests for—well, anyway. See you around!”  
“Thanks for stopping by, Brian.”  
“Anytime, buddy. And don’t forget! Drinks! Soon!”

As Zeller left, Will felt a glowing warmth spread throughout him that lingered his entire drive home. He hadn’t spoken to Zeller in years, hadn’t even sent him a Christmas card—yet he still stopped by. It had Will reeling.

He heard Alana’s voice in his head, telling him _“good things do happen.”_

Had he been wrong? Had he been so totally wrong about everything? Did people still care about him, even after all the shit he’d put them through? 

Was he still worth something?

As he parked his car in the motel parking lot, something gave. For the first time in many years, he cried. It started out as a slight wetness about the eyes. Soon, though, it transformed into full on, shaking sobs. He didn’t care if someone saw him. It felt good; it felt like freedom. 

Was he really good enough, just on his own? The realization was enough to knock him over. He had spent the last decade of his life, nearly, trying to be useful to people, to prove he was worth keeping around. He had suffered under Jack, under Hannibal, under his own failing marriage. Had it all been for nothing?

Or, had he really been enough all along?

He could hear his dad’s voice in his head, telling him a man should work. A man should provide. A man needed to give, give, give. He hadn’t given Brian Zeller jack squat and yet he still somehow thought Will was worthy of conversation. 

Will had been so scared to contact anyone, after he got back. He knew what they must have thought about him. Cannibal. Murderer. Sick. Just like Hannibal. He didn’t want to hear their whispered accusations and their louder silence. So, he stayed away. He ignored their calls. He did only the bare minimum before retreating to Wolf Trap and his motors. 

But now, after today, he wondered if he really needed to be that scared at all.

After some minutes, the tears ceased to fall. A strange lightness came over him. He felt cleansed.

He bustled into his rooms and set his briefcase on the bed. Digging out some notebook paper and a pen, he made up his mind.

He was going to write a letter.

The words flowed out of him, jumbled like spider legs in the black ink. He needed to explain himself, but more importantly, he needed to apologize. He knew what he wanted, now. 

He had spent the past few days trying to unwrap the complicated package Alana had dropped in his lap. If he hadn’t been drugged, then his feelings were _actually_ attraction. If he was genuinely attracted to Frederick, what then? He had gone over every interaction, every expression, every little glint in Frederick’s eyes that had given him butterflies. How everything made sense! 

He recalled, vividly, that moment of accidental panic in the bathtub. He had tried to keep everything hidden, everything tightly under wraps while at Frederick’s house. He didn’t trust him, after all. But, that night, he’d had such a painfully real nightmare. He woke up tasting Hannibal’s cigarettes. Then, cowering in the bathtub and surrounded by dogs, he had let himself take comfort in Frederick’s words, despite his better judgment. He had let himself be honest and had found himself safe. Oh, how Will wished he would have just trusted Frederick from the start.

By the time he finished the letter, the side of his hand was grey with smudged ink. He stared at it for several minutes, then got up to fix himself some dinner. He left the letter there all night long. He had to let the words percolate and sink themselves into the paper. If he moved it too quickly they might fly off the page, too shy still to be seen. 

It had been a long time since he had been truly vulnerable. He had thought that vulnerability was akin to nakedness: being seen and being unprotected. He had offered himself that way to Hannibal many, many times, and to Molly. But there was a different type of vulnerability, a clothed vulnerability, that allowed the other person to take you as you chose to dress yourself, and decide whether they still wanted you with all that baggage. Because we do not actually spend the day naked, but rather clothed in our experiences and our habits. We are not a set of personality traits, static like the Myers-Briggs indicators, but a set of behaviors that bump and chafe against those around us. That is how he caught Hannibal, and that is how he was able to kill him, finally. He saw Hannibal clothed. 

But Hannibal had never truly known him. He had known what Will wanted him to know. He had tried to mold Will into a little protégé. But he had never known how much Will was hiding, how much he was still able to cling onto his past self. You could take the man out of Louisiana, but you couldn’t take the Louisiana out of the man. Will had put on Hannibal’s outfit, set out for him to climb into like a nesting doll, but he had left his own self, untouched, at home. And that is how he never got ruined.

He was able to return to his life and his habits. Sure, he thought of Hannibal all the time, but he was realizing now that he was not Hannibal. There was a clear distinction between his life with Hannibal and his life without him. He got confused, sometimes, about where those distinctions lay, but there was hope for him yet. He had not been completely ruined, stained, mutilated. He had survived.

The next morning, he slid on a comfortable pair of dark-wash jeans and a nice shirt. He dropped the letter in the motel’s P.O. Box before heading out to Quantico.

The sun was shining and his hands were clean.

He had won, in the end.


	10. i think too much

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> fred got the letter

Thursdays were always a drag for Frederick. The midpoint of the week had passed, but you still had several days to go before the weekend. This Thursday was even more bothersome, though, because of the letter he’d found in his mailbox the previous night. 

He’d been trying to ignore it the whole morning. He had made a promise to himself decades ago to never let a man interfere with his career. But it was a letter! A handwritten letter! Who even sent those anymore, outside of business?

He’d lain awake for a good deal of the night, eyes tracking the shafts of light on his ceiling from passing cars. What did Will mean with all of this? Why a letter?

_“I know you must hate me. I don’t blame you. I hate myself most of all, sometimes.”_   
_“…and I realize now that you are a great deal more important to me than I let myself realize. I'm sorry I didn’t tell you sooner.”_   
_“…I wish I would have trusted you…”_

Was this backtracking or a step in a new direction? Will had expressed interest, even romantic interest in him months ago. Sure, it had been false, but it was still there. Was this another ploy? Why would he do that? Why did he even do it in the first place? These and many other questions plagued him and left him bleary-eyed come morning.

His distracted state of mind lent itself to clumsiness. He nearly dropped a cup of coffee in his lap during his lunch break and he turned a corner of the hall too sharply, stoving his fingers between his wheel and the wall. (How much pain was Will Graham going to cause him?)

He was tempted to throw the letter away. He had no obligation to let Will back into his life, especially after the man had left of his own volition. Will was probably only coming back to him because he felt lonely. Loneliness was no excuse for being an asshole, though.

But his letter had been so… humble? Pleading? It certainly didn’t sound like the Will Graham who had called him back in September, eagerly pushing the boundaries of their relationship. 

Was it just another ruse? Another way to get into Frederick’s head? What did Will want?

_“Thank you for letting me stay with you. You really didn’t have to and I appreciate it. You’re a good man, Frederick. You ~~didn’t~~ ~~don’t~~ didn’t deserve what I did to you.”_

By the time Frederick left his office, his head was practically buzzing with questions. Sitting in traffic, he asked himself the biggest one of all:

What was he willing to risk?

Immediately, his answer was firmly ‘nothing.’ He’d risked enough already to count for several lifetimes. There was too much on the line here. 

Was he really scared of Will, though? Did he believe Will to be a killer? There was a time when he would have said yes, when he would have condemned Will to a lifetime of solitary confinement and a muzzle. The man had knowingly eaten human flesh, after all.

Frederick pined for the moments of his life when he’d been able to forget all that. He remembered coming home after a rough day to Will cooking him dinner. He remembered seeing that curly head ducked over a plate of food. He remembered wondering if he wanted Will there forever.

His heart ached. He knew, deep down, that if Will asked to come back that he would let him. He didn’t have the self-control or self-preservation to turn him down. And something in himself wouldn’t let him believe Will was another Hannibal. It couldn’t have all been a lie.

That evening, he reheated some soup he’d made the other night, eating it mechanically while staring at the wall. The letter sat by his elbow. He staunchly avoided looking at it.

How different his life had been a month ago. How carefree. How full of light.

Had Will faked everything? Frederick remembered waking in the middle of the night to a panicked Will. He remembered coaxing him back into the present. He remembered wanting to gather him into his arms and tell him that everything was going to be alright.

_“Hannibal is dead,” Will said, voice muffled in dog fur._   
_“Hannibal is dead,” Frederick repeated._   
_“I’m not dead.”_   
_“No, you’re not.”_   
_“Neither are you.”_   
_“No. It seems to be very hard to kill me. Three people have tried, already, and I'm still here.”_   
_Will chuckled. “I like you alive.”_

Frederick grit his jaw. It couldn't have all been a lie. It just couldn’t.

As he was clearing up the dishes after dinner, there was a knock on the front door. He rolled his eyes. He really was not in the mood to deal with Janet right now.

The knock sounded again. 

Fine. Fine! He’ll talk for a moment, maybe even accept some stupid pills. 

“Just a moment!” He called out.

He went to the door and opened it.

“Frederick.”

There was Will, standing under his porch light like something from a movie. His hair was ruffled, like he’d been pushing his hands through it, and his face was flushed from the chill.

Frederick felt his heart stop. He really was not ready for this conversation.

“Hi,” he said awkwardly.

Will swallowed. “I don’t know how I can ever apologize to you.”

“Technically, you already have. Twice. I got your letter.”

What was Will doing here?

“I—I don’t know any other way to say this,” Will continued, “so I’m just going to say this. But I want you to know that you don’t owe me anything, especially after… well. After everything. I just… I needed to let you know. I couldn’t—I couldn’t keep lying to myself. I… I’ve… Well, I’ve been going to therapy, actually, again, would you believe? And—and nothing excuses the way I behaved and I know you probably hate me now and I do not blame you, I probably would in your shoes, but… I wanted to let you know that it wasn’t your fault. It was never your fault. I didn’t trust you because I didn't trust anyone. I didn’t think anyone could be that kind to me because I felt like—like I didn’t deserve it. I thought you were… you know. I just… damn it. I’m sorry. I’m sorry for what I did. I’m sorry for invading your space and making you buy me food and messing your flowers up with my dogs. I’m sorry for just showing up like this, but I didn’t know how else to do it. I… shit.”

Will took a step closer and dropped to his knees in front of Frederick, wrapping his arms around the other man in a hug. It took Frederick a moment or two to remember to breathe.

“Please let me make it up to you,” Will mumbled into Frederick’s torso. “I want to make this right.”

Frederick dug his fingers into his palms. Fuck it. He had to know.

“Was it really all a lie?” He whispered.

Will pulled back and looked Frederick in the eye. The glare from the porch light above him highlighted the angles of his face. 

“No. I think…” Will sighed. “I think I actually did fall in love with you.”

_What?_

Frederick searched for any sign of insincerity in Will’s eyes. All the questions swimming around in his mind screamed out for answers.

“Then why did you do it?” Frederick asked. “Why? I can’t… I can’t do it again, Will. I can’t.”

“Hannibal is dead,” Will said simply. “But I’m not. And neither are you. I… I thought he survived, somehow, through me. But I’m not him. I don’t have to live like that. And I don’t want to.”

Frederick studied the man before him. He had waited a long time—an embarrassingly long time—to hear Will confess his feelings like that. But was it real? His heart ached with months of longing. But he just couldn’t let himself fall again only for Will to turn away.

“What _do_ you want?” Frederick asked.

Something in Will’s expression cracked and Frederick felt as though he was looking at him for the first time. 

_Oh._

Will’s hand slid up Frederick’s arm to the back of his neck, moving slowly to telegraph his intent. His breath puffed out white in the cold night air, and then it was warm against Frederick’s face as they were kissing.

It was chaste and sweet and Will’s lips were just as perfect as Frederick had always dreamed. Once his brain caught up with his body, Frederick wrapped his arms around Will and leaned even closer. How long he had waited to do that! Finally, after a day of noise and worry, his mind was silent.

After several moments, Will’s nose bumped cold against Frederick’s cheek and he was brought back into the present.

“Do you want to come inside?” He offered, pulling back. “I have coffee.”

Will nodded.

FIN.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> be sure to read part three!

**Author's Note:**

> Come yell at me on tumblr @nimiumcaelo !


End file.
